Who's Your Captain?
by riversgirl75
Summary: funny drabble about Oliver Wood's wife's past relationships.


Who's Your Captain?

Hermione stood at the kitchen counter, charming vegetables to chop themselves, a cauldron bubbling on the fire. Her six-months pregnant belly protruded before her, bumping the counter as she prepared dinner. As she levitated plates and cutlery to the dining room table, a Patronus in the form of an eagle flew in through the open window.

"I got it!" was all the glittering bird said before it appeared to fly away.

The witch smiled ecstatically. She knew how much this would mean to her husband. She conjured a banner that read "Congratulations, Captain!" and hung it over the archway so he'd be sure to see it as soon as he got home.

Less than ten minutes later, Oliver swept through the front door, beaming from ear to ear. He dropped his equipment bag in the entry hall and rushed into the room.

"Hello, love, your captain's home!" He pulled Hermione into a breathless embrace, kissing her passionately before releasing her gently and placing his hands on her belly lovingly.

"Who?" Hermione joked. "Is that Oliver Wood, Puddlemere United's newest captain?" She greeted him in the hallway and led him toward the kitchen.

"I'm so happy for you, Ollie," she said. "You deserve this! Your team is lucky to have you as their leader!"

Oliver sniffed the air. "Is that - "

"I made your favorite," his wife said proudly, "though, I have to admit I didn't know for sure you'd be made captain when I started it."

"So, you took a chance," Oliver reasoned. "The meal would either celebrate my captaincy or comfort my disappointment?"

"Pretty much," Hermione admitted. He kissed her again, chuckling at his wife's logic, which she could not help but apply to every situation, be it a personal victory or a work crisis.

As the kiss deepened, and their arms pulled each other closer, Oliver muttered into her mouth, "Will dinner keep? Because right now I'm in the mood to celebrate in a different room." And he scooped her up bridal-style and carried her, laughing, into their bedroom.

"Come, my dear, and experience lovemaking as you never have before," Oliver stated grandly, depositing Hermione with care on their bed.

"Oh? What's new this time?" she asked giggling.

Oliver crawled across the bed to her on all fours, hovering over her. "Only that this is the first time you've been ravished by the captain of a Quidditch team." He placed his face tantalizingly above hers, brushing his nose along her jawline, but making no significant contact.

"What makes you say that?"

He froze.

"What's that, my love?" he asked her, sure he heard her wrong.

"I said, what makes you so sure you're the first Quidditch captain to make love to me?"

He drew back, taking in her face, which looked bemused but sincere.

"Merlin, 'Mione, I thought you said you and Krum never - " Oliver sat back on his heels, hands on his thighs, holding his breath.

"Victor and I were never really together; I've told you that over and over," Hermione reminded him. Gods she was enjoying herself.

"Then...no, you couldn't have...Potter?"

"Harry? As in, love-him-like-a-brother, asking-him-at-dinner-Sunday-to-be-our- firstborn's-godfather Harry? Get real, Wood!" Hermione couldn't help but laugh at the thought. This little game was just too much fun.

Oliver paused, mulling over any other options he could think of.

"I, I, well, who then?" He scrubbed his hands over his face. His celebratory mood sure had sunk fast.

"Think, Ollie. Who else do we know that has been the captain of a Quidditch team, professional or at Hogwarts?"

"Oh. My. Gods...Are you seri-? Did you? GINNY WEASLEY?" Oliver couldn't decide if he was more shocked or turned on at the thought. His wife wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and said nothing. He took her silence as affirmation.

Her poker face broken, Hermione threw her head back and guffawed for a full minute before finally reaching out for Oliver's hands. She pulled him down next to her, leaned over, and kissed him passionately, her tongue exploring the depths of his mouth, her hands roaming his broad chest, drawing him against her tighter and tighter, in spite of her swollen stomach.

Just as he decided to give in and resign himself to the idea that his wife once shared ( _Just once?_ he wondered) a passionate tryst with another woman, she rolled on top of him, grinned, and leaned over, her breath in his ear.

"Just kidding, Ollie. You're the only captain for me."


End file.
